The Oracle at Delphi

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 05, 2018

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Submitted: September 05, 2018

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The Oracle at Delphi

By Lindsey A. Bryant

That poor, pathetic girl,
Stole my journal,
She wanted to feel profound,
Little did she know;
I let her.


Had she the sense,
To read far enough into me,
She wouldn't have ended up drowned.

The truth is,
I get bored with Apollo sometimes,
He's crass and takes me for granted.


A thousand words,
I would have spoken them,
Had it been to a proportionate

.... exhale. 

A thousand deaths,
I could have stopped 'em.


But truth is I don't care for the grief of seeing their progeny,
In all their careless folly.

Too bad I can't float like a feather,
On this weapon we aimlessly call,
"Time "
And die as soon as you.


The gift of prophesy is quite tolling,
In these aching hands of mine...

I know I'll live to know you'll read this,

While my aching hands,

While they,

Surround you....


© Copyright 2018 Lindsey A. Bryant. All rights reserved.

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